


The House on Sea Cliffs

by leiyoi



Series: The House on Sea Cliffs [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Grim Fairy Tale-esque, M/M, Mystical Happenings, Secrets, happy endings, spookiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 11:44:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiyoi/pseuds/leiyoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a stormy day, there were two boys.</p>
<p>The first boy was feeling down and wouldn’t leave his house. Wanting to cheer him up, the second boy took him out to a place rumored to get rid of troubles.</p>
<p>The place was beautiful even in stormy weather and the first boy was able to clear his mind of his troubles, if only for a little while. But while exploring the woods together, the second boy mysteriously disappears. The first boy tries to find him and eventually stumbles upon a house in the woods...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The House on Sea Cliffs

_People say that when you have troubles, go to Sea Cliffs._

_They say that when you have secrets and you can't let anyone know about them, go to Sea Cliffs._

_The town is magical, they say. One look and you'll never be the same._

 

"Wow, look at those waves!" A young man points from his perch over a steel railing; the railing stretches across the grey shore he is watching, curling long and lengthily toward the docks at the far end of the bay. He chuckles when a stormy gust of wind splatters rain into his glasses and he holds his black hair back from whipping into his face. He smiles, piercing blue eyes trained on the swarm of grey clouds huddled on the horizon, watching the sunlight that occasionally peeks through, "It feels like we could be in a movie right now! Like a climax moment. We need to save a guy out there and the only way to do it is to brave those waters… dang, this would look so cool!"

 

Another man leans against the railing, blonde hair steadily turning darker from the drizzle of rain. His eyes are shielded by a pair of aviator shades and he sends his friend a knowing smirk.

 

"Pretty neat, huh."

 

"Yeah, totally! Just look at those clouds!" The first man laughs for a long moment and then silences. His lips are still curved in a soft smile, but his eyes steadily fall to watch the dark waves break along scattered rocks. "Thanks, Dave," He says after a pause, "For taking me here and... y'know."

 

"Anytime, John," The blonde shrugs, "That's what I'm here for. Your own personal Strider chauffeur. We'll go anywhere you want for a buck. You need fast, we go fast. You need far, we go far. Go Strider. Only the best there is."

 

"And what if I wanted to go see McConaughey acting live on set for his next film?" John turns to grin teasingly. Dave nods.

 

"We'll get you there."

 

John snickers and shakes his head, "But seriously, thanks. This really helps take my mind off of the whole..." He trails off and watches the waves and tumbling sky again. Dave pockets his hands casually.

 

"Yep."

 

After another drawn out minute of silent staring, John finally turns away and throws his arms in the air for a long stretch. Then he hops beside his friend and bumps him in the shoulder.

 

"So what other mysterious places are you planning to spontaneously whisk me off to, huh?"

 

Dave nods to the cliff behind them, "I heard the houses around here are cool. They're supposedly centuries old or something. Wanna see?"

 

"Yeah, let's go!"

 

_The waters are beautiful and the woods and houses devastatingly charming. Rumors are the sights you find at Sea Cliffs are so enchanting, people sometimes go there and then never come back._

_But rumors are only rumors._

 

The two men make a quick dash to a rundown Jeep parked by the side of the road. They buckle in and then Dave drives them up a narrow path, allowing another lone car to pass first, before turning down a steep street into vibrant green woods.

 

Even with the rain showers and overcast sky, the trees still stand tall and proud in the wind; their leafy branches remain a deep and strong green against the grass that brightly glistens across hilly terrain. From the road, speckles of dainty houses appear like shy ghosts from between damp tree trunks.

 

John points one out, "Dude, look at that one!" Dave slows and they pass by a quaint house with a light pink door and pastel yellow walls. The steps and railing leading up to the door are colored a deep purple and light blue. John snorts, "Who'd paint their house like that...?"

 

Dave nods to another on his left, slightly further in through the trees.

 

"Check that one out." The house looms from afar, walls a dark brown and black with windows and door outlined in eye-catching lime-green. The two men circle through the woods again and again—sometimes laughing, sometimes gazing in awe at the many unique houses scattered across the green landscape.

 

John waves a hand at another pair of houses, one a dark red and the other a dark blue. The two houses look nearly like siblings with their similar designs and woodwork, yet they remain distinctly different in style from their neighbors.

 

"I don't get it, Dave. All of them look really different from each other. There's like no consistency at all." He eyes the blue and red ones as they pass by and then spots a small 'For Sale' sign hanging from the porch of the blue one. He glances over the listed phone number with curiosity, "Who even built all of these...?"

 

"Fuck if I know." Dave answers as they turn left into a smaller street, "Probably the people who came here centuries ago. I mean just think of how much free reign they had back then. Must've been a regular architectural street rave or something every fucking day. These guys just went building to their heart's content. A little bit of everything mixed together. And that's what we see now." He raises his eyebrows at a flashy pastel blue house with bright orange and green windows, "The weird colors are probably from the nut-jobs living here though."

 

John chuckles and hunches down by his window to search out other houses to poke fun at or gawk at. But a flash of black catches his eye. He gasps.

 

"Dave! Wait, no! Stop!" He exclaims with a panicked squeak, "Stop the car! You're gonna crush it!" He grabs Dave by the arm fiercely. The jeep screeches to a halt.

 

"Jesus christ," Dave exhales after a second and flexes his tense fingers on the wheel, "What the hell, Egbert?"

 

John cranes his neck up to see over the front of the car.

 

"No, I just... I thought I saw a bird or something?"

 

"Seriously?" Dave frowns, "Fuck, should I check?"

 

"I dunno... I didn't feel anything though?"

 

The car wipers move and settle back in place. Then a loud fluttering noise from outside startles the two men. They see a brief brush of black wings against the windshield and then a sleek and ebony feathered raven lands stoically over the street sign at the end of the narrow path. It clicks its claws on the edge of the paint-chipped sign, watching their car with one beady-black eye.

 

The two men share a glance. John lifts his shoulders up sheepishly. "Looks like it's alright?" Dave raises an eyebrow in response but they continue puttering on down the street. As they approach the street sign, they hear a clear and shrill call, ringing ' _caw_ ' once. Then twice. The raven raises its beak open again, the shrill ' _caw_ ' echoing a third time, and then their engine cuts off. The jeep stills to a silence.

 

"What the?" Dave mutters and tries the ignition. John sends him a perplexed look.

 

"Dude, did your car just break down on us? Don't tell me we're gonna be stuck here..."

 

"It's fine, man." Dave assures and turns the ignition to the 'off' position, "Not like it's the first time it's happened. Just let it sit for a moment."

 

John sighs and turns to give the scenery a cursory look, "And you didn't think of getting it checked at all the first time it happened?" The trees look a darker and deeper green here and the colors of the houses just a bit more faded.

 

"Shut it and just chill, bro." Dave drums his fingers over the wheel, "Leave this to the pros."

 

John rolls his eyes but nevertheless leans up against the window to observe the surrounding houses. They've stopped right in front of a magenta and peach painted cottage. But John blinks in surprise when he sees the inner-door of the house already open. Through the outer glass door he can see the inside of the house, dark and unlit, and a lone dog sits right against the glass, completely still. Its eyes stare unblinkingly back at John and he smiles.

 

"Hey. Look, Dave!" He pokes at the window, pointing at the dog watching them, "There's a dog in that one. It's kinda cute. It's just sitting there and waiting, haha."

 

"Yeah?" Dave tries the ignition again. He scowls when the jeep doesn't respond and then unbuckles his seatbelt. John sighs lightly.

 

"You're not listening, are you..."

 

"I am," Dave murmurs distractedly and yanks a latch under the steering wheel to pop the car hood up. He pushes the door open and steps out, "Just hang on a minute, I'm just gonna check something for a bit."

 

"Okay..." John murmurs as the door closes and his friend treads through the light rain to the front of the jeep. He watches Dave raise the hood and after a few seconds of watching idly, he directs his attention back to the dog. It's still looking back at him and the rain seems to be steadily growing heavier. The hushed whispers of rain gently lulls John into a daze. But when the dog finally shifts its head—looking in the direction of the car's front—John blinks again and he turns back to observe the car hood. Over the whispering rain, he doesn't hear any sound from the front of the car.

 

He opens his door slightly ajar, enough to have his voice heard while still keeping the rain out.

 

"Daaaave?" He calls through the sighing sheets of gray rain, "Not done yet?"

 

Hearing no answer, John frowns and unbuckles his seatbelt. He leaves and then trudges through the grass clinging to the pavement, moving to the front of the car. "Dave!" He says, then cuts himself off when he finds no one there. "Dave...?" He asks in mild shock. He circles the car quickly. Once. Twice. He doesn't find his friend.

 

"Maybe he went to ask someone...?" John persuades himself. He returns to the car and waits. But he notices that the dog in the violet house has also disappeared. He shivers when he sees the dark and now unoccupied doorway. The unlit hall, leading into the house and looking deep like the night sky, seems to almost suck him in. His blue eyes turn away, searching instead for any sign of blonde or flashes of red in the woods. Minutes pass and still no one returns.

 

John tries calling his friend with his phone. He hears the call go through—the signal is still working—but no one picks up. After calling another four times, he finally gives in and leaves the car. He slams the car hood shut and then stomps down the road, looking for any person or lit house in his vicinity.

 

He eventually finds a small woman, tucked safely under a black umbrella. She is on the opposite side of the street, gliding through grass and stones at a gentle pace.

 

"Hey!" He shouts while rubbing the rain from his glasses. He glances both ways and then hastily dashes across the street to the woman, "Excuse me, sorry but..." The woman looks up at him from under her umbrella, her lips a deep red and lifted at the corners in a quiet smile, "...did you see anyone pass by? A guy wearing sunglasses and a red jacket? He's got blonde hair."

 

"Oh," She pauses and then shakes her head, "No, I'm afraid I haven't."

 

His shoulders sag and he breathes out a disappointed, "Oh... thanks though." John readies to leave but she stops him with a question.

 

"You've lost your friend to the woods?"

 

He turns to look at her, surprised by the strange wording, "Well... yeah, I guess so. He probably just can't find his way back or something. But he hasn't been picking up his phone either..."

 

"I see." She smiles again. Then she reaches a pale hand out to take John's. "Well, let me give you a bit of advice before you go any further." He studies her pale hand in bewilderment but she pulls him down to her height and fixes dark ebony eyes on his bright blue ones. She chants slowly, "Don't _ever_ turn back. Don't _ever_ look away. And **never** give up."

 

"What...?"

 

She releases his hand and gives him a parting nod, "As long as you remember my words, I'm sure you'll find him."

 

"Okay...?" John watches her turn away and she continues her glide up the hilly street. He repeats the chant again, "Don't turn back, don't look away, never give up?" He frowns, "What in the world...?" He pushes the words to the back of his mind, brushing it off as the woman's awkward attempt at encouragement, and renews his trek down the street. Step follows after step through the escalating whispers of rain. The trees loom taller and he doesn't realize that every step he takes is putting him all the more deeper into the woods.

 

.:.

 

His relentless journey takes him past several more houses, all as dark and unwelcoming as the next. The once vibrant colors of their walls have grown faded and gray through the misty lens the rain casts across the road. The rain beats down heavier and John can no longer discern the difference between walking on land and wading through water. His clothes have completely soaked through, sticking to his body like another layer of skin, and the only thing he still bothers to keep clear of rain is his eyes. He wipes his hair and water from his eyes again and again until finally, he shouts out in frustration,

 

"Ugh! Where the hell are you, Dave?!"

 

He breathes out his nose heavily and thinks of turning back, of retracing his path back to the old jeep. But a house at the end of one street lights up warmly. John squints through the rain. He draws closer to the warm light, lured by the promise of shelter and possibly the company of a kind stranger.

 

Despite the state of the lawn—overgrown grass spilling onto the road, so messy and untamed that it masks any path leading to the house—he finds that the steps up to the porch are still sturdy and maintained a strong scarlet red. He brushes his fingers over the glossy black railing (wet from the rain but still smooth to the touch) and his blue eyes search across the house in wonder. The house is beautiful to him, the colors a casual mix of red, black, and off-white, and the light shining from within illuminates the intricately pieced engravings hanging from the porch's roof.

 

John hops up the last two steps and settles cozily under the cover the porch provides. He wipes water from his face and sighs at the sight of rain now cascading harmlessly off the rooftop, away from him. He returns his attention to the house, to the bright red door lined in black. The door knob is a bronze handle and the knocker designed in the shape of a bird's head holding a ring in its beak. Suddenly self-conscious, John attempts to fix his clothes and hair. He wrings out as much water as possible and then stands stiffly in front of the entrance. He raises a hand tentatively. Then he gives the door two hesitant knocks.

 

"Hello...?" He calls, "Is anyone there?" He knocks a third time with slightly more force. But on the third knock the door slips open, spilling warm and yellow light over his steadily chilling body. He blinks at the open entrance in surprise and raises an eyebrow at the carelessness of the occupants. "Umm, your door is open..." He informs while curiously pushing it further open. Inside, the house is dazzlingly and almost overwhelmingly warm. John can't help but take a small, embarrassed step forward. "Umm..." He blushes, "I guess I'm coming in..." He gives one last warning before creeping in slowly and closing the door behind him.

 

Immediately to his left, he finds a living room decked out in red sofas and a sleek black coffee table. The furniture are all facing a large flat screen TV hanging from the wall and twin speakers tower from the sides like two bodyguards standing watchfully in place. The long cabinet underneath the TV holds various appliances, including (John recognizes) an Xbox and an assortment of DVDs. John whistles approvingly and then shuffles in place on the white granite flooring, thankful that he isn't dripping all over expensive carpet instead.

 

"Hello?" He tries again, "Sorry for intruding... your house is really nice, by the way." He grins sheepishly. Hearing no answer, he sighs and digs through his damp pocket for his phone. Might as well try again, now that he has calmed down and found shelter. He wipes the keypad and screen with his thumb and then punches in the call button again. He waits and soon the call goes through. But he jumps when a familiar ring chimes from someplace in the house. The ringing seems to come from the floor above him.

 

John nearly drops his phone.

 

"Wha—! Dave...!" He hollers, "Have you been here this entire time?!" He storms up the stairs, hand clenched around his phone until his knuckles turn white, and follows the sound into a room lined with vinyl records and turntables. Dave's cell phone sits on one of the tables holding up the machines, still singing in answer. The room, however, is otherwise empty. John cuts the call and frowns. He takes a glance around the room, noting a collection of records labelled in familiar writing. John's eyebrows pinch together.

 

"Why is your handwriting...?" He murmurs and studies the room a little longer. He goes back down the stairs, exploring the living room and kitchen more carefully. There are various photographs lining the walls of the living room. He finds them familiar at first and then realizes that he knows these faces; he had once seen the same people decorating Dave's apartment in the city. A photo on the refrigerator catches his eyes. It shows a man wearing a faded black baseball cap, arms raised and wielding a sharp sword threateningly over his shoulder.

 

John also knows this man. He stares at the refrigerator a moment longer before daring to open it a fraction. The tell-tale sound of sharp metal clanking against more metal clatters from the inside, already threatening to spill out, and he hastily closes the door shut again. He runs a hand through his damp hair.

 

He recalls that Dave has never mentioned having a house in Sea Cliffs. In fact, Dave made it sound like he had never been to Sea Cliffs before. But everything about the house points to having been lived in, if only momentarily, by the Striders. John's eyebrows pinch together again. He wonders why Dave would purposefully keep the existence of this house a secret from him. He shakes his head immediately after that thought. So what if Dave was keeping something from him? Everyone is entitled to some degree of privacy (even if he does feel a little disappointed by it). He reminds himself that there are more important things to worry about instead. Such as finding where Dave has disappeared to.

 

John supposes that Dave was here only a while ago to grab things for the jeep. He had then left again after gathering the necessary items for repair. In fact they probably just missed each other. But since he's forgotten his phone upstairs, Dave will soon come back and then (surprise!) find John waiting inside his secret house.

 

Something about this explanation doesn't seem quite right, but John ignores the nagging thoughts of "wrong, wrong, wrong!" churning in the back of his mind. He convinces himself that he should stay until Dave returns. In the meantime, he decides that finding some dry clothes could be a good idea. He's sure Dave wouldn't mind. Especially because it was Dave's fault for leaving him alone in the first place.

 

He climbs up the stairs again, in search of a bedroom. With each step up the wooden stairs, the touch of damp clothing chafes against his skin. He shivers at the top of the steps and quickly ventures across the dark floorboards into a new room. He finds nothing but another room full of Dave's hobbies (a clothesline hangs across the center, heavily loaded with expertly taken self-photographs; a sleek table sits flush against the far wall, holding up two Macintosh screens and a keyboard; on the other side stands a wide cabinet filled by a large collection of preserved specimens). John leaves and enters the bathroom right next door for a towel. But he peers out again.

 

A hallway off to the side catches his attention.

 

John hadn't noticed it at first; the turn into the hallway had been obscured from his view at the top of the stairwell. But he notices it now and he's sure that it'll lead him to the bedroom.

 

He snatches up one of the white towels from the bathroom and makes a beeline for the hallway. While rubbing his hair through with the towel, he looks into the hall and then stops to smile triumphantly at the one lone door at the very end. The door is a simple dark brown and the wallpaper stretched across the walls is the same cream-yellow that covers the rest of the house. The only difference is the walls here lie bare and untouched by any photographs or posters.

 

John takes a step forward, eager for a change of clothes. But the floorboards begin creaking heartbreakingly from beneath him. He takes another step in and he almost feels the wood crack under the weight of his foot. He winces and looks down at his feet, briefly noting that he should let Dave know he needs to get the floors here repaired. He doesn't think it should feel as if no one has ever walked through here before. But as he takes another step in and the wood groans achingly up at him again, he can't help but feel that way.

 

John looks up again. But a scratch in the wall catches his attention. He's sure that the tear in the wallpaper wasn't there before... He moves closer to it and inspects it curiously. The mark is a small horizontal cut into the wall, almost as though it had been carved in there by a sharp knife. He runs a finger over it. Then he blinks once.

 

He flinches back when a new cut appears underneath the first one, shaping out into the letter "J". He swallows, turns to look across the hall.

 

He finds no one else.

 

He knows that there is only him and the creaking floors beneath his feet. He looks back and then yelps when more letters have joined the first two carvings on the wallpaper.

 

"JOHN", the cuts spell out.

 

He pales and backs away. When he blinks again, another section of cut up wallpaper tells him, "DONT GO". He shudders and backs up further, moving closer and closer to the door at the end of the hall. The sudden and silent appearance of the words frighten him. But what unnerves him even more is the fact that he recognizes the writing. He knows the scribble of print across the walls. It's Dave's.

 

His back hits the one lone door in the hallway and he gives it a shaky glance. When he looks back into the hall, the cuts in the wallpaper have grown frenzied, sprawling like scars across the cream-yellow wallpaper in all sizes; in small pleas and in large angry demands: "DONT GO IN THERE" "JOHN" "DONT GO" "IN THERE" "DONT GO" "JOHN". The words repeat like a dead man's curse.

 

John feels a cold chill run up his spine. His skin prickles with fear. He doesn't know what has happened. Is Dave writing these words from somewhere? Maybe this is just one huge hallucination from being in the forest and rain for too long? Perhaps he has fallen into a nightmare? John feels his muscles lock in place. He can only stare up at the numerous scratches in wide-eyed terror. Is Dave telling him not to go in that door? He feels his mind turn deaf to all rational thought. His instinct wants him to leave the house this instant. To run from the haunting hallway and return to the car.

 

But an image flashes to the forefront of his mind. A pair of ebony eyes, a red-lipped smile, and a gentle chant.

 

He tenses, eyes darting from wall to wall. Then he sucks in a long, rattling breath and slowly turns his back to the eerie words. He faces the lone door, taking the brass door knob in one hand. And then he pauses, surprised when he sees shaky and small writing cutting itself out—almost painstakingly and agonizingly slow—across the door:

 

"john dont go in there"

 

He smiles gently and feels an overwhelming sense of sorrow for the desperate words. He still doesn't understand what has happened. Maybe Dave is warning him not to go in because it's dangerous. But even so... he knows that Dave is in trouble. _Something_ has happened to him. And there is no way he will leave now without finding his best friend first.

 

"I'm not turning back, Dave..." He whispers hoarsely, then turns the door knob. It clicks open with ease and he cautiously enters the new room.

 

.:.

 

He immediately notices an ominous door on the right wall. The door is a dark steel grey and looks almost like it were wrapped all around by thin tangles of barbed wire. John swallows and quickly decides to give the suspicious door a wide distance (for now). The rest of the room, however, is fairly normal looking.

 

The floor in here is laid out in boards of warm and sweet-scented wood; lines of photographs are strung up across the left side of the room haphazardly. Straight across from the entrance is a large full-size bed with silk red sheets and black pillows; and closest to the bed is a wooden dresser. John spots a pair of aviator sunglasses set snugly on top of the dresser, within arms reach of the bed. It's the pair of shades he had bought for Dave on his thirteenth birthday. He hasn't seen Dave without them since.

 

He tip-toes closer to the dresser, aware that the floors are no longer creaking at him in protest. Instead they have gone silent and still, as though having given up in resignation. He plucks up the aviators, inspecting them curiously. He knows that Dave wouldn't leave his shades here so easily. Yet it doesn't look like there is any sign of struggle; the shades still look carefully maintained and cleaned, even folded neatly together at the wings. John puts them back down and his blue eyes are then drawn to a picture frame sitting nearby. He blinks, startled by the image, and stoops down to get a closer look.

 

The picture frame holds a rare photograph of three blondes hunched together: there's the tallest wearing a black cap in the middle, and another two standing at similar heights—Dave and another man wearing a black wife-beater.

 

John stares at the picture, wide-eyed. It's an impossible picture. There is no way all three of the Striders would ever be together in the same photograph. Dave has told him countless times about how his oldest brother is never around for long and that his other brother had disappeared years ago (they keep in touch through occasional e-mails but his brother never indicates that he's coming back). Yet here it is. The impossible picture. He can even see the faint smile on Dave's face. The one that he makes when he is trying to look cool even though he is feeling absolutely giddy on the inside. John hurriedly digs out his phone and takes a rapid succession of pictures to store away for future use. Then he returns to explore the rest of the room.

 

He walks to the rows of photographs and inspects the pictures hanging from the clotheslines. One of them is purely dedicated to their friends in university and John notes that the pictures are set up across the line almost like a movie being played through. He ducks under the line and studies the next row of pictures. The second one seems slightly sparser in photographs and a few are faded or even blurred. But from the ones that are clear, John can see the images of a young blonde boy building and screwing bolts into toy machines. Other ones show the young boy, now grown into a man, stretching a hand down to help the camera person up from the pavement. The last photograph shows the man—who John has now recognized as Dave's second brother—directing a nonchalant thumbs-up of approval to the camera.

 

John moves onto the next clothesline and he snorts when he realizes that this one seems to be completely dedicated to Dave's oldest brother. There are several series of scenes grouped together in stacks of photographs: moments where the oldest Strider is mixing up music at a pair of turntables, fingers flicking over the machines skillfully. Other moments where he's nodding off in front of the TV. Or a time where the man seems to be smirking at the camera even with a bleeding gash in his side (John notices two hands gripping a blood-stained sword at the bottom of the photo and assumes that this might be one of those Strider strife sessions that Dave likes to brag about). And then there's another time where the man is merely walking up and raising a hand up to give the camera person a rough pat on the head.

 

John raises his eyebrows at the pictures. He gets the feeling that none of these pictures were actually taken by a camera. In fact, they look more like memories. Specifically, Dave's memories. He gnaws on his bottom lip. How is this possible?

 

An explanation surfaces in his mind but John doesn't think he can believe it. It can't be true... it just can't be. That Dave has possibly been... _integrated_ into this house somehow...?

 

He ducks under the clothesline again and then gasps when he finds an entire row now laden with pictures of him. There are pictures all the way back from when they had first met as partners in a science project—he can see his own eager face from that time through Dave's eyes. John continues stepping down the line quickly, ignoring the growing number of creaks and groans from the floorboards, and skims through the memories upon memories of their years spent together.

 

His breath hitches when he sees another photo near the end of the clothesline: his face is half-turned away in the photo, lips contorted in a pained smile. His past self faces a woman who is in the middle of rolling her eyes and he feels his lungs clench at the sight of her. He remembers this moment all too clearly. But he didn't know that Dave had noticed so early on...

 

He swallows audibly at the sight of the woman, feeling a familiar choking lump rise in his throat. Suddenly, he sees her face grow distorted in the image. He blinks, shocked when the woman's face begins burning away, only to leave a hole still smoking with orange embers. He gulps back his suffocating feelings and then releases a soft sigh, spooked but also relieved by the disappearance of the woman's face.

 

The very last pictures on the clothesline are that of today's trip to Sea Cliffs. John raises his eyebrows at the many pictures of himself staring out at the ocean and laughing into the wind. He didn't know that Dave paid so much attention to him all this time. But these pictures seem to prove that he does.

 

John is not sure how to feel at this point. He is somewhat flattered and a bit embarrassed. He doesn't remember ever looking at Dave so closely. At least not in the way Dave does for him (if these photos are indeed Dave's memories). But maybe he should...? He wonders if maybe he hasn't been a good enough friend to Dave this entire time; that perhaps he hasn't been properly cherishing their friendship. He shuffles from foot to foot and stares down at the floor, uncomfortably silent. After a moment, he takes a glance up at the photographs again. Dave has always been there for him. But right now...

 

John straightens and slaps his cheeks. He nods to himself with assurance. He'll pay more attention to Dave from now on. He'll be there for Dave, too. Right now though, he needs to find Dave and get him out of this creepy place.

 

He slips under the last line of photographs and notices a poster pasted up at the far corner of the room. It's cut up and torn badly by the ninja stars embedded into the wall. But John can still recognize the person in the poster through all the shredded fragments. It's the same woman who had just been burned away only seconds ago. He turns away from the sight, focused on searching for more important clues to Dave's disappearance. He returns to the end of the bed after inspecting a few more items (listening to memorable dialogues and his own piano music stored on the fancy stereo system in another corner of the room; looking through the dresser drawers for any journals or diaries but only pulling out clothes instead).

 

As John snags a few dry articles of clothing and changes into them, his blue eyes dart toward the door laced in barbed wire. He pulls a loose red sweatshirt over his torso, tugging back the drooping sleeves, and eyes the door again. It's the only place he has yet to explore...

 

He pauses to face the intimidating door, hands fisting with resolve. Then he slowly approaches it with caution. The floorboards whine again as he draws near and he stops only a few inches away from the wires. He silently stares at the steel door knob as it coldly glares back.

 

John takes a breath, feeling his gut twisting and rising to stifle his lungs. But he swallows it down. He reaches a hand to the door and notices the tangle of barbed wire grow thicker in response, like it's a living thing. He grabs the door knob and then bites back a hiss of pain when the barbs extend sharply, piercing into his forearms to block him.

 

"Ow! Dammit...!" He grunts and tries to turn the knob. The barbs dig deeper in, keeping his trembling arm in place. He's tempted to let go, to try again later. But instead he pushes back. He feels his flesh tear under the stubborn wires. "Stop it, I'm not letting go!" He shouts at the door, disregarding the beads of crimson blood starting to pool from the puncture wounds, "I'm not leaving Dave alone. So stop it already! Just let me in!" His voice bursts from him and the sound becomes a lingering echo in the silence following after.

 

The barbs shrink back, retracting and recoiling in on itself, as if ashamed. The wire loosens, turning thinner and thinner until it drapes across the door and his arm like threads of hair.

 

John sighs in relief and carefully brushes the rest of the wire aside. He then gives the knob an experimental twist. It answers with a soft _click!_ and John slowly shoves the door in. It takes a bit of force to get the reluctant door open—and his blood is now smeared in a mess over the front—but he finally does get it open and he looks up. Blue eyes widen.

 

The room is black. Dark and thick like crude oil. The walls are circled in close, room only about a quarter of the bedroom wide. The temperature inside is just a tad too warm and there is a sweet yet musty scent in the air that reminds him of late night parties in the university dorms. Scattered across the wood floor and walls are more photographs and posters, barely lit with the light that crawls in from the entrance.

 

John barely notices the rest of the room. His eyes are fixated on the one picture lying near his feet, the only one fully revealed by the light. He doesn't know what to make of it. It's a photo of him and Dave. He's laughing in the photo and Dave is leaning over, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. Their hands are clasped together, fingers intertwined.

 

John bends down to pick the photo up, studying it with round eyes. Then his gaze finally lifts and scans over the rest of the room. He drops the photo as if it burnt him.

 

The remaining photographs and posters are barely perceptible in the dark room. But there is no hiding the images and scenes in them anymore. His eyes have adjusted to the dark and nothing escapes him. In one of the nearest photos, John sees himself being pinned to a wall by his arms, lips wet and swollen red from abuse. He finds countless other images of himself in various states of undress. He's naked and openly exposed in some, pushed up against counters or lying tangled with sweat and ecstasy in Dave's bed sheets. There are others where they're cuddling with each other in front of a TV, sharing deep kisses. He sees another where he's kneeling between Dave's legs and loosening a tie from around his collar. He gapes as his own blue eyes gaze back from the image, looking down at him with unguarded lust.

 

His mind has numbed. His mouth grows slack.

 

His hand leaps up to muffle a whimper. He can't tear his eyes away, too shocked to even take a step back. He feels his body beginning to flush hot red, but he's unsure if it's due to anger or shame or perhaps just sheer embarrassment.

 

"Oh my god..." He finally whispers, breath withering away from him.

 

.:.

 

He hears a loud ear-shattering _CRACK!_ break from the ceiling. Air whistles across steel, the sound ringing through his ears; he only has a second to look up and cry out at the sight of a hundred swords suddenly raining down upon him. He trips backward in his attempt to turn and escape and his back hits the floor. He raises his arms up pathetically to block himself.

 

The floor echoes with the broken wails of swords piercing through wood. And then everything stills. John hears himself in the silence, heaving in deep and erratic breaths. His eyes jump from sword to sword in the field of steel surrounding him; from the sleek sword embedded beside his ear, reflecting back his frightened gaze in its blade, to the multitude of other swords biting into the pictures scattered at the ends of the room. He slowly brings his arms back down, mind now a noisy blank of white. Parts of his clothing have become snared to the floor by the rain of swords but otherwise, he remains miraculously unscathed.

 

For a moment John stays silent, only breathing and staring vacantly up at the ceiling that had broken open and bled out swords. The cracks veining across the ceiling look like painful scars and suddenly, John feels an overwhelming pulse of anger run through him. He scowls and tries to rip his torso and legs away from the blades pinning him down. He tugs and twists wildly, but the swords are too dull to cut through the fabric.

 

He falls back, muscles spent from his struggling, and his head hits the floor with a heavy thud. He bites down on his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, and then shouts out, frustrated,

 

"Dammit, Dave! What the hell was that?!"

 

He waits, listening to the ceiling and swords as if they would scream back at him in answer. When nothing stirs in the room, he clenches his jaw in fury and then screws his eyes shut.

 

"What do you want me to say then?! Don't just throw swords at me and expect me to understand! I just—!" His voice cracks and he swallows at the dry lump of nausea rising up in his throat, "What do you want? Because I don't know what to do anymore! Did you want me to just immediately throw my arms open and hug you in acceptance? Okay, sure! Whatever! I can probably do that, if only you were _here_ and you'd just give me some more time to **think** for just a second! But just—! Jesus, I just...! This whole week has just been terrible and I—! I-I thought today would change things... But fuck... Fuck, Dave... _Fuck!_ Just tell me what to do already! Just tell me! I just want this to end. I want this to be OVER!"

 

He takes a few gasps of air in, looks up at the ceiling again with his blue eyes,  searchingly. Hearing nothing, he twists his head to glare at the floorboards.

 

"Oh yeah and _now_ you get all quiet. Jerk..."

 

He lies there for a long while, thoughts churning ruthlessly through his mind. He doesn't know how long he remains silent for. But he steadily calms and then lets his limbs sink into the floor, like a deflating tire.

 

"I'm just... I'm tired, Dave. I don't want to feel like this anymore. I don't want to feel so bad anymore. I've had enough of feeling like crap...

 

"I thought today was gonna be great. I dunno what I was expecting... I mean, haha, what the hell was I thinking, going outside on such a crappy day. I guess maybe I thought I'd get over everything if I took some time out from being in school all the time? Or something. Because... well you know what's been happening! I only just broke up with her, you know that. And... and then... you're— and with me, and— ...anyway, this is just a whole lot to take in all of a sudden, okay! I'm sorry if I did something that hurt you! But I don't exactly know what I'm doing right now either! So...!"

 

He holds his breath for a second. Then exhales and lets his eyes close.

 

"No. Okay. I can't just say that. What I want to say is... just... give me a moment and let me work through this okay? Because... I was happy that you took me out here to get my mind off things today. You're good at doing that. Getting me out of the stupid messes I get in... But then we get stuck in the middle of nowhere, the weather just keeps getting suckier, and then you just... _disappear_. And when that happened everything just suddenly got all creepy and totally not cool anymore.

 

"Then I find your house..." He turns to look up at the ceiling with skepticism, "Or you've...  turned into a house? I don't know! And really, I've just been freaked out of my mind by everything up till now. I mean, dude, what the hell was that writing on the wall? And the barbed wire?! And then there's all those weird pictures of... of us... doing... things. And it looks like you're... you're gay for me?" He sucks in a breath, "Just— holy shit, Dave... you're... Just holy shit. How long has this even been? When did it even...?" He trails off and holds his breath, waiting for any sign of reply. But hearing nothing still, he releases a long sigh and mumbles to himself.

 

"God, this is so stupid. What am I doing, just talking to myself. That's your thing. What the hell is going on here, Dave. I'm not supposed to be the one talking to myself...! So where the hell are you right now?

 

"If we were in a movie, you would've totally missed your cue to enter. You should be jumping in right now to tell me that I'm embarrassing myself again! Tell me that I'm just being a huge, dumb dork like you always do!

 

"Because you're not gone... are you? You're not d—" He swallows back the word at the tip of his tongue, "Just tell me you've at least turned into a house or something. But how does that even happen...? God, I must be totally crazy to think that you've turned into a house... This is definitely a dream. Even I wouldn't be so silly to think that in real life... Yeah, this is all just a dream..." He pauses and listens again to the uninterrupted silence. When he still doesn't hear anything, he finally folds his arms over his face with a shaky sigh, "Fucking worst dream ever..."

 

He almost succumbs to exhausting sleep like that, arms covered firmly over his eyes. But he stirs awake from the sound of soft rustling. He shoots up and then glances around wildly, searching for the source of the noise. Then he realizes with a jolt that he can actually sit up again. He also notices that the room has now become flooded with piles of rusty sand. John sifts a hand through the coarse dust in wonder.

 

"Okay..." He murmurs, "Say you ARE a house after all. Who cares if this sounds crazy, I'm not exactly in a normal house anyway. So yeah, let's say you ARE a house right now. Then I guess... to get you human again, I just have to find the magic way of turning you back! Like one of those fairy tale stories... Frog Prince, right? So, uh..." He shifts uneasily, "What should I..." He slowly recalls the story of the Frog Prince and then flushes pink, "Er... I don't know if a kiss will work..." His eyes dart around the room in panic as he mumbles a small, "What would I even...?" to the walls. "And um..." He pauses to stare desperately into the dark. Then he buries a hand into his hair.

 

"Dave, to be honest... I'm not sure what to think about the whole... you liking me thing. This is so confusing! And it feels like it just came out of nowhere! I thought you liked girls...! And anyway, you know I have a girlfriend! Well... had, but..." He breathes out his nose then continues again slowly, "I mean, I just never— I didn't think that—" He takes a moment to frown, "This is just so weird... I mean how do you even like me? I'm like such a nutcase. I don't even look that good either...? So why would you even want to, erm..." His eyes flicker to where a few especially explicit pictures used to lie. However, when he finds nothing but the rusted sand in their places, his ears grow warm. His eyes dart away. "A-Anyway, um... you... you're like my best friend. And I really don't want things to get awkward between us..."

 

He quiets again, beginning to consider a few ideas a bit more thoughtfully. Then he shakes his head. It was all meaningless without Dave around to speak face to face with.

 

"Okay, anyway. Let's get you out of 'house-mode' first before anything else." He thinks back to the chant he was given and nods with a huff. He is not turning back. He is not going to look away. And there is no way he's giving up!

 

John lifts himself off the ground, spilling the sand off his body. He shuffles out from the dark room, back to the bed and strings of photographs, and then paces for a while, thinking of methods to bring Dave back to human.

 

He tries persuading the walls that he's fine with everything even after knowing all of Dave's secrets and that he accepts them; that they're best friends before anything else and that nothing would change that. He tries pleading for the house to let Dave go. He goes back in the sand-filled room and painstakingly digs out every single buried photograph inside. Then he brings them out—whole pictures, cut up fragments of posters, photographs torn through the middle—spilling them all out on the bedspread. The house remains unmoved and quiet through all his attempts of making something change. He tries tracing his fingers across the scratched letters in the hallway. Then tries kissing them, hesitant and nervous. He tries singing. He tries screaming. He tries praying and tries running and dancing ritualistically around the house, up and down the stairs, slamming all the doors open to allow evil spirits out.

 

He collapses on the bed when he's completely spent—crushing all the excavated photographs under his weight. The windows still show the woods outside, now a deep midnight purple-blue, and he doesn't pay attention to the haunting moonlight that illuminates the houses hidden in the trees. A photo pokes his cheek as he sinks into the covers and he pulls it away to squint tiredly at the image. It's the first one he had seen upon entering the forbidden steel-doored room. The one where he's laughing and Dave has a soft kiss pressed to his temple.

 

He swallows and lets his hand drop to the bed again. Then he slaps a hand over his forehead, taking in a deep breath and letting it back out brokenly.

 

"God, Dave... Why aren't you here already? I've tried everything. I've tried—" He sniffs and when he feels his eyes turn wet, he presses his fingers tighter to his face, "Just... Don't be dead... Talk to me..." His voice drifts to a quiet murmur, "I'll be right here... for you. Always." He grows silent. His eyelids are heavy and the bed takes in his weight, cradling him gently, "I'll listen. Just say something... don't... keeping it to yourself..."

 

The room is hushed for a long moment after he speaks. Only the sound of John's steady and rhythmic breathing flows through the house. Outside, the damp woods are chilled in the night air, turning bark brittle and grass crisp. The winds grow calm and soothing, whispering around tree trunks and over wet rooftops.

 

.:.

 

When John wakes again, the scent of dirt, pine needles, and wet grass immediately alerts his senses. He's no longer inside the house. He groans mutely and pries his blue eyes open against the sunlight leaking down from pockets of sky. He squints for a moment. Then his breath hitches and he stares disbelievingly at Dave, who is lying collapsed and asleep right beside him. Their hands are nearly brushing and a relieved smile quickly breaks across his lips. He sits up and reaches out, almost hesitant to touch for fear of Dave being an illusion, and then shakes him by the shoulder. Dave is still wearing the same red jacket as when he'd disappeared and his shades are sitting folded in a patch of grass above his head, cellphone another foot away; John can't remember a time feeling any happier to see the sprinkle of freckles scattered across Dave's nose again.

 

"Dave..." He calls, "Dave...!"

 

His friend stirs, blonde lashes shivering and then slowly parting open. Red irises stare back at John, unfocused for a moment as if caught in a dream. Then they widen and Dave immediately pulls away, jumping straight up to his knees.

 

"John...!" He hisses out in a short breath. John's smile falls when he sees the frozen and panicked expression in Dave's crimson eyes. The blonde tenses, hands digging into his black jeans. "Fuck, John. Shit... I didn't want to— I wasn't going to— I... sorry. Sorry." He says, voice dry. He continues repeating the words, "sorry" in an uncharacteristically raspy whisper and his eyes are large, blown open like he'd just witnessed something he loved die right before him.

 

"Dave! It's okay...!" John finally cuts him off with a cry. Dave flinches and his eyes flicker away, unable to meet John's anymore.

 

"No, it's... it's not. This day was supposed to be all about you, John. Not about... I wasn't going to _ever_ —" He clenches his teeth and then sinks to the ground in resignation. He goes quiet like the grave and John doesn't know where to even begin speaking from. Then Dave murmurs, "I'll take you back. If you don't want to have anything to do with—"

 

"Dave, shut up!" John bristles as soon as he understands what the blonde is thinking, "You're still going to be my friend! Don't you dare try to cut me out after all I've been through...!"

 

Dave's head lifts up immediately at that and his face turns several shades paler when he sees John; he's still in the clothes borrowed from the bedroom, still ripped with holes from the barbed wire and swords.

 

"Oh god, John. I... I did this..." His hands shake and his eyes are open, exposed and trembling; it feels like time broke with the way his gaze is frozen to John's forearm, still dotted with healing puncture wounds. His broken expression hits John in a wave of nausea, so sickening it knocks the breath from his gut. John immediately finds the need to spring forward, taking Dave into a tight hug.

 

"God, Dave... Don't look like that, don't— Dave, its _fine_...!" John says into Dave's shoulder, loudly so that it blasts away all and any of the blonde's fear and sorrow, "I'm fine!" He hears Dave respond with an intake of air and he feels his friend's body turn stiff and still under his touch.

 

"John... what the _fuck_ are you doing...?"

 

"Dude, it's a hug! And you really need one. What, you mean I can't even hug you anymore? When you look so messed up?!"

 

Dave lifts his arms, drops them back down, then shakily lifts them again, ghosting over John's waist.

 

"John. You know what kind of guy you're touching now, right? You saw the pictures; what I want us to do together; everything I want to do to you. So how could you even—"

 

"Yes! I saw the pictures, goddamnit Dave. I'm not that huge of a dumbass! I know the way you like me. But look," He pulls Dave away to arms length and then stares straight into his startled red eyes, "I've had a lot of time to think about things, okay? And I know that if that's really all you wanted, you could've just jumped me at any time and have been done with it. But you're not like that, Dave." He shakes him once, wanting to rattle away all insecurities, "You're a great guy. The best bud I could ever ask for..." He gives him a small smile, "I don't want to give that up."

 

Dave stares back into John's vibrant and clear blue eyes, red irises wide in disbelief. His eyes draw away and he swallows heavily in answer. Then his head sinks down, blonde bangs falling forward.

 

"But..." He croaks out after a pause, "We're never gonna be together, right? Not the way that I..." He cuts himself off and continues staring down at the grass. John gulps down an odd bubbling feeling, rising high in his throat. He mumbles, sheepish,

 

"Erm... well... I don't really know—"

 

"John!" Dave bites out and digs his fingers into the ground, "Don't drag it out. Don't be fucking leading me on..." He warns, barely holding back the hurt in his voice.

 

"I'm not leading you on...!" John exclaims back hastily, "I just—! I'm still...!" His cheeks turn pink and he fiddles with the sleeves of the tattered red sweatshirt. Dave lifts his eyes to watch his friend in bewilderment.

 

"John...?"

 

John shifts his gaze from hand to hand anxiously. His hand jumps to his hair, running fingers through his scalp and tugging on strands. Then he gives in with a sigh, hand flopping back into his lap,

 

"Look, the truth is... I gave that some thought, too. I mean, I never even thought of having a relationship with a guy before. So all of this was kind of new to think about! But I _did_ think about it. And yeah... umm." He takes a quick glance toward Dave and then looks down again, embarrassed, "What I'm trying to say is... okay, I don't really want to get in another relationship right away. I don't want to just be using you as a rebound thing or something. I mean, this whole week I've kind of been in what people would call 'huge emotional turmoil' and you're just always there for me. So maybe I've attached onto you as a crutch for my mental health or something, and I dunno...! I just... I need time. To... make sure of things. And... yeah." His ramble drifts into a mumble near the end, "I just don't want to start something, then mess things up and ruin our friendship forever, all because I had confused feelings..."

 

There is silence; only the calling of birds and faint song of insects filling the woods. Then he feels Dave shift.

 

"Okay."

 

John looks up to see Dave staring back at him, eyes unwavering. The blonde nods.

 

"Okay," He nods again, "I can do that." After another pause, he finally smirks and adds, "So you're cool with the idea of making out with me? Or of us fucking?"

 

John feels his ears flush hot-red, caught off-guard by the questions. But when he catches that familiar quirk of Dave's lips, his usual cocky smirk, he feels something in him pop and his entire body deflates. A laugh bubbles up and he feels his eyes surge with tears, sudden and uncontrollable. He laughs and laughs, smearing tears away with his palms.

 

Dave splutters. "Holy— Jesus christ, dude. You're totally wrecked…" He feels Dave put an arm around his shoulders and he immediately draws closer, leaning into the warmth, grateful.

 

"D-Dave, I'm—" He laughs and hiccups, "Fucking glad you're back, man. You have no idea."

 

Dave remains quiet, rubbing a hand up and down John's back soothingly. Then he leans in, presses his forehead to John's temple. John thinks he feels lips brush the tip of his ear in a timid kiss. And then Dave squeezes his shoulder.

 

"What do you say we blow this joint."

 

John chuckles and sniffs, nodding in agreement, "Hell yes. Never take me back here again."

 

They gather Dave's phone, shades flipped back in place over red eyes; John pushes up the sleeves of his tattered sweatshirt, fixing his glasses over blue irises. And then the two boys begin their trek back to the jeep, weaving through dark trees overgrown with light green moss. They step lightly over sparkling puddles of rain water and return to the main road, air fresh and crisp and new in their lungs.

 

_People say that when you have troubles, go to Sea Cliffs._

_They say that there's no keeping things to yourself once you go to Sea Cliffs._

_Because Sea Cliffs will be sure to release them from you._

_What they don't tell you is..._

_...to always bring a friend._

_Bring a loved one._

_And even when you don't have a friend or loved one to bring,_

_well then..._

 

 

**To be continued**

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Housestuck AU!
> 
> This story is based on a real place that I went to (the houses really are that weird/unique from each other and quite colorful...!) but it has been heavily embellished by my imagination. It was pretty stormy that day though...! And the houses started to look really creepy... plus, the dog thing did indeed happen. It was spooky! Especially when the driver said, "Aww, it's so cute~" and the dog just kept staring at me without blinking from behind the door... not cute at all. Really scary, in fact.
> 
> There are two more chapters to this series in the making: 2nd chapter being a Rosemary fic and the 3rd chapter being a DirkJake one. I'm currently juggling several JohnDave/DaveJohn fics at once so it might take a while to finish this series...
> 
> So please bear with me if you'd like to see the continuation of this AU!  
> (I mean I like this idea a lot because... what if I were a house? What would I look like?)
> 
> In any case, thank you very much for reading!  
> I hope you have enjoyed it~


End file.
